


Resolution is Absolution

by Captain_Loki



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Stiles, Fingering, Fluff and Angst, Future-fic, M/M, Post-Canon, Rimming, Top Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9384812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Loki/pseuds/Captain_Loki
Summary: One near death experience too many and Stiles finally makes a move. Then there's sex. With butt stuff





	

**Author's Note:**

> combination of two fics that I found unfinished. One of them was called 'assplay' because that's how I roll
> 
> Also no beta because I'm a lone wolf aoowooo

Stiles’ expression is hard, resolute, it makes his eyes look too big and his skin too small where it stretches over the hard lines of his cheekbones. His mouth is open, slicked with spit from where his tongue has been lapping over the cut carved into his bottom lip, plump with blood and red. It matches the bruise forming beneath his left eye.

Stiles has a shotgun slung over a broad shoulder, his fingers holding it in a loose grip where every other line of his body is tensed and rigid, like the fight hasn’t ended yet, like they hadn’t won. Derek can see his thoughts like smoke swirling in his head, condensing into cloud and becoming something heavy and too big to deal with.

He’s too tall where he stands in front of Derek, looking at him with his eyes angled almost imperceptibly down where his gaze catches Derek’s own and holds like a challenge and a plea at once. Derek wants to say something, because he can smell the sharp scent of Stiles’ arousal and they’ve been here before, dancing on the edge of something.

He tells himself it’s the adrenaline, the thrill of life thrumming hard in their veins, hearts still beating at a pace not quite frenzied but not quite the calm it’ll level out to by the time Stiles has made it back home, safe and secure. Until next time.

Always a next time.

Except this time hasn’t ended yet because Stiles is still there gazing at him with a wild sort of look in his eye that Derek has tried and failed to tame. Everyone’s gone, the dust settling in the wake of their departure, save for Stiles. Stiles and the stubborn set to his hip where he stands with the shotgun like a cape where it’s draped so casually over the sharp curve of his shoulder.

“Stiles,” Derek says, his throat feels raw and his voice comes out in a whisper rough crack that matches the way he feels. Stiles ignores it, but Derek didn’t expect anything less. This is always the part where Stiles looks at him like that for the drag of another moment, like he’s trying to recognize something in his face or remember it, like he’s trying to memorize the desperation Derek knows he can’t hide with Stiles’ eyes on him.

Stiles lets his arm swing down, the barrel of the shotgun dragging across the dirt before it hangs limp by his dusty bloodied jeans, torn at the knee. Derek watches the gun where it moves like a pendulum by Stiles’ dirty Adidas, avoiding Stiles’ eye until the other man leaves. Because that’s how this ends, every time. Except this time Stiles isn’t moving and it’s a long and awkward pause until Derek finally drags his eyes away from the gun and looks up. His mouth parts on words he doesn’t have but Stiles sniffs once, and pops his jaw (and Derek knows it hasn’t quite been the same since the tulpa last year). Then Stiles sighs out a breath and says, “We should have sex.”

Derek doesn’t know what he’s expecting but the words hit him in the gut and he laughs in a sharp rush of breath through his nose. Stiles raises his eyebrows and stares at him.

“What?” Derek jerks, shaking his head, “ _no_.” He takes a step back, until there’s an extra foot of distance between the two of them and Stiles shakes his head and cants his hip.

“Why not?” He asks, and it’s his tone, with its usual air of petulant indignation that makes Derek’s nose and mouth twitch with affection even as he looks away. He stares at the tree line, fading into the distance and disappearing into the thick fog rolling in with the early morning light threatening to break from the horizon.

When he glances back Stiles is staring at him, waiting for an answer. Derek doesn’t want to admit that he doesn’t really have one. There are reasons of course, more justifiable than excuses he knows, but they feel just like that, flimsy and useless.

“Because,” he says instead. Stiles rolls his eyes with his whole body and Derek smirks again at the exaggerated roll of his shoulders and the bend in his legs that pops a pale knee out of the shredded tear in the faded blue denim.

“Are you _serious_?” Stiles asks.

“You’re a kid,” Derek says instead, because he knows the accusation will irritate Stiles and it does. He flushes hot and angry at the words.

“I’m eighteen,” Stiles says defensively. He doesn’t need to though, not like Derek could ever forget with the constant subtle reminders that felt like a barrage, whether a threat or a promise Derek didn’t know then, but he does now, with Stiles staring at him the way he does on a hunt, all focused concentration and bravado belied only by the frenetic thump-thump of his heartbeat.  Derek lets his eyes wander in a way he doesn’t usually, except in stolen moments of weakness, now he doesn’t hide his own interest, doesn’t mask it behind a poorly constructed façade of indifference.

He can see the outline of Stiles’ cock when he twitches in his jeans.

“You want this thought, right?” Stiles asks, like he knows the answer. He takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between them, until he’s close enough for Derek to touch, and the scent of blood is mixing with Stiles’ own, it’s heady and overwhelming. Derek doesn’t answer him, just watches with lowered gaze as Stiles drops the shotgun finally to the ground and presses even closer.

“You want,” there’s the slightest hesitation then, a flicker of uncertainty and something akin to fear but to call it that would be a disservice to the measure of it,”—me?” Derek slides his tongue across his teeth and stares everywhere but at Stiles.

“Derek!” Stiles voice is commanding and frustrated and Derek’s eyes snap to his and he sighs heavily and says, “Yes.” Stiles’ hand twitches at his sides then, knuckles cracking as he flexes them, fingers long and pale and skirting over the outer seam of his jeans like he’s itching to touch him. His own hands are heavy and limp at his sides. He wishes he had his leather jacket instead of this sweater, the deep pockets affording the protection against the awkward fumble of his own fingers or the sudden clawing desire to drag Stiles forward.

“You were waiting though,” Stiles tells him, it’s not a question but a statement of curious intent, like he’s making deductions, like Derek is a case to solve and a mystery to crack. It doesn’t need an answer so Derek doesn’t offer one. “I know you don’t think I’m a child,” Stiles tells him and there’s the hint of petulance back in his voice, like the last time they went to the movies and Stiles was the only one carded and he’d flushed red and hot as he fumbled with his license and Jackson sniggered maliciously behind him.

“No,” Derek says, shaking his head.

“So, what were you waiting for?” Stiles asks. The question takes Derek by surprise and his mouth falls open on a strangled “I-“ before he stops and snaps it closed with a loud clack of his teeth.  _Until I was someone who deserved you_ , he doesn’t say.

“Because,” Stiles says and he inhales sharply and exhales slowly, look of steely determination set in his features as he nods, “because if it was until you’re ready, than okay, yeah, I’ll wait. But I almost died tonight. _Again_. And I don’t want to die before—“

“I don’t want you to sleep with me because you think there’s a ticking time bomb on your virginity,” Derek says, cutting him off, resisting the urge to step back. Stiles looks taken aback and he shakes his head.

“That’s not what I was going to—that’s not what this is.” Derek tries to mask his disbelief but Stiles’ shoulders droop slightly in defeat. “I’m not a virgin, Derek.”

Derek tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing in scrutiny, but there’s no tell-tale tick or blip in his thready pulse. It doesn’t matter though, doesn’t change anything. “Besides, that’s not. That’s not what this is about,” Stiles continues, ignoring him.

“Then what?” Derek asks, voice soft, steady. Stiles glances away, fingers stuttering over each other, feet skittering from side to side absently, the long line of Stiles’ body jittering with anxiety. 

“It would just really suck if one of us died before we got to tell each other,” Stiles laughs self-deprecatingly and finally glances at Derek, catches his gaze, “I _love_ you,” Stiles says, voice a sarcastic mock, cheeks flushing beneath the waxing moon. “You know, or whatever.”

Derek feels himself wanting to argue at the accusation, the assumption. But no words really come and Stiles smirks softly at him, arousal over powering the last tether of his apprehension. “The thing is, I’ve sort of never _not_ liked you, you know. And I know you feel the same way,” Stiles says. 

“Like doesn’t mean love, and it doesn’t mean sex,” Derek tells him.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Stiles questions, brazen in a way he never is.

“Yes,” Derek answers; he sees no point in lying here, and he knows he _does._ It’s never been a conscious thought, but he’s felt it there.

“Okay, well. I’m telling you,” Stiles says, hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I love you, and have for a long time.” Stiles rushes over the protest Derek already has forming on his lips, “and I like you, in an I’m very interested in you, kind of way. Definitely sexually, at this particular moment, a lot, sexually. But also, probably romantically.”

“Probably?” Derek asks, eyes darting from Stiles’ eyes, open and earnest, to his lips pink and spit slicked, tongue darting out, licking his lips the way Stiles does when he’s nervous.

“Yeah, I mean, if you are. I’m trying to play it cool. Hard to get, here,” Stiles nods, the linger of Derek’s gaze not having gone unnoticed.

Derek swallows through everything his instinct is telling him to say, but Stiles’ fingers, have settled against Derek’s arms, crossed defensively across his chest, and he says instead, his arms falling to his sides, “Do you need to go home tonight?”

Stiles straightens, his heart ratchets, but he’s smirking in a self-satisfied way, but his hands are trembling. “No, yeah, no I’m good.”

 

Stiles is half expecting black satin sheets and a swanky heavy wooden four poster bed, but Derek’s bedroom looks more like an Ikea catalogue spread than anything. It’s clean, if a bit Spartan, and his sheets are just cotton, though they’re soft and feel way more expensive than any that Stiles has ever owned.  Stiles isn’t sure if it’s the nerves or the instinctual need to file away details that makes him take careful inventory of the space.

Stiles has been to Derek’s new apartment often, but he’s never actually been in his room before. It feels somehow more intimate even than the way Derek’s hands felt on him now, slipping underneath his dirt stained t-shirt. Then they’re kissing and Stiles’ hands move to clutch at Derek’s shoulders, over his neck, mouth opening under Derek’s. Stiles feels Derek’s hand deftly working his pants open, reaches down between them reciprocate.

 

 

They’re both naked now, save for Stiles’ red _Flash_ briefs, which he thinks someone like Lydia would find a complete deal breaker, but it was well worth the look of amusement and derision battling across Derek’s face when he yanked Stiles’ jeans down around his thighs. He thinks, maybe Derek might even have kind of a thing for them, because he hasn’t taken them off yet, instead he’s flicking his tongue over the hard nub of one of Stiles’ nipples as his hand falls to cup Stiles’ hard cock through his briefs.

Stiles opens his mouth on a silent hitched moan and catches Derek’s gaze as he leans up and kisses him again, hard press of mouths and tongues as Derek’s palm rubs persistently over him. His hand is broad and his fingers thick where he presses them behind Stiles’ balls as he kneads the swell of his erection, Stiles’ hips stuttering beneath him, rolling softly and without thought.

Derek’s mouth moves to Stiles’ neck, sucking bruises to his skin before he moves away slightly. Stiles makes a noise of discontent that makes Derek smirk, but then his hands are on him, tugging his briefs down, and off, tossing them over his shoulder. Stiles is naked then. He lets his eyes rake over Derek’s body, all broad shoulders and firm chest, the cut of his abs and the flush of his hard cock where it stands practically raised to his stomach and his strong thighs and calves and he would feel self-conscious but Derek is staring down at him like he’s the blue plate special, and then he’s pressing kisses to the corner of Stiles’ mouth and it’s…surreal.

Stiles let’s his legs fall open as Derek settles on of his own between them, leaning down and pressing their bodies flush together as he kisses Stiles, their cocks sliding together with every thrust and gyration of their hips. Eventually, Stiles pulls back, tips his head and bares his throat to get his lips away from the crush of Derek’s so he can pant in a lungful of much needed air.

Derek noses at the base of Stiles’ neck, and kisses him gently before he pulls away, licks a stripe up his palm before moving his hand between them and wrapping a fist around Stiles’ cock. Stiles’ eyes open, wide and surprised, dragging the heavy weight of his head up to look back at Derek, mouth open, lips swollen and spit slicked, Derek staring down at him in a way that makes Stiles flush hot along his chest. 

Derek’s grip around him is hot and tight as he strokes from base to tip, sweeping his thumb along his head on every up stroke and palming at his balls on the way down. But Stiles hums an involuntary noise of frustration, shifts beneath Derek until they’re lying on their sides, flushed against one another, and Stiles lifts his leg and throws it over Derek’s hip in front of him. Derek release’s Stiles cock and looks at him, a searching, questioning look. Stiles blushes and looks down at Derek’s lips, the uneven line of his teeth where his mouth is open.

“I want…” Stiles sighs, voice breathy and choked off.

“What?” Derek asks, spoken quiet in the small space between their mouths, his hand sliding back between them, tugging lightly now at Stiles’ dick. Stiles shakes his head and moves a hand between them, gripping Derek’s and moving it away. Derek makes to draw his hand back, confused, concerned, but Stiles tightens his grip and pulls it forward, drawing his leg up higher on Derek where he’s curled around Stiles. Stiles pushes his hand back, until Derek gets it, and palms Stiles’ ass.

“Lube,” Stiles croaks, “I want your fingers in me.”

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek moans pressing their lips together in a bruising kiss, Stiles feels Derek’s cock twitching against his own where they’re pressed tight against their stomachs. Derek starts to move away then, reluctantly, kisses growing shorter and shorter until he pulls away entirely, moves across to the small bedside table and comes back with the bottle of lube. He wastes no time popping the cap and pouring it thick onto his fingers before sliding back into position on the bed, Stiles hitching his leg back up across Derek, who moves to hold him, wrapping around his broad shoulders, and rubbing softly at the flushed skin of his back. Stiles presses his other leg between Derek’s, spread as much as the position will allow, Derek’s hand smearing lube on his balls as it searches out Stiles’ entrance.

Stiles’ breath hitches in his throat as Derek’s fingers tease at him, circling over his hole, Stiles’ ass clenching and unclenching and Derek’s stuttered breath ghosting across his lips where they hover over Stiles’.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles whines, voice low and needy, he rolls his hips, arches his back, seeking Derek’s fingers out now. Derek swears and captures Stiles’ lips against his own, before he finally breaches Stiles with the tip of his middle finger. Stiles mouth falls open, eyes squeezing shut tight as he relaxes into the feeling of it, the slight pinching pressure. Derek’s head drops to Stiles’ shoulder as he works his finger in and out of him, sets a slow pace until Stiles’ hips start moving, shifting with restless need and he quickens his pace as they thrust against one another.

“Fuck yeah,” Stiles moans, head tilting back. Derek licks a stripe up the underside of Stiles’ jaw, palms at his ass and works a second finger into him. The moans it elicit are filthy, long drawn out syllables with no real understandable meaning beyond the obvious desire for Derek to never stop. He’s accommodating, his wrist circling as he works his fingers in and out of Stiles, every sweep of his fingers on his prostate as he goes deeper making Stiles words hitch, his fingers clutching at Derek’s back like he’s afraid of drowning without him.

“ _Derek,”_ Stiles hisses, and Derek captures his lips in another kiss, tongues sliding wet and messy over one another as Derek fingers Stiles open.

“God Stiles,” he says, and Stiles’ eyes open at the sharp sincerity in his voice, the open want and the expression. “What else do you want?” Derek asks, fingers stilling.

“Don’t stop,” Stiles begs and Derek obliges, keeps the pace.

“I want— _fuck—_ I just…I love, _oh shit_ ,” Stiles smirks, “how do you feel. About playing with my ass? Until I die?” Stiles asks, sentence punctuated with deep gasping breaths, rolling his hips and Derek huffs a breathless laugh and sucks a wet kiss into Stiles’ shoulder.

“I feel pretty good about it,” Derek admits. He pulls his fingers free from Stiles’ ass and shoves lightly at his shoulder. “Now roll over, I want to taste it.”

“Oh fuck,” Stiles articulates, but he rushes to obey, helped along by Derek’s strong hands, manhandling him into position, hitching him back with a grip to his thighs as Stiles slides along the bed, before dropping his upper body against the sheets, resting his head against his forearms.

Derek spreads his ass, and Stiles hears and feels him spit against his hole before he feels the wet press of his tongue, licking up from his balls and over his hole. He keens low in his throat and widens his stance. Derek hums as he works him open with his tongue, nipping at the swell of his ass cheeks before ducking back down to press his tongue inside him.

Stiles hears the cap pop open on the bottle of lube again and feels Derek’s hand wrap around his cock once more, drawing it back between Stiles’ spread legs, jerking him off in quick strokes as he licks with frantic movements of his tongue over Stiles’ hole. Stiles groans beneath him, wiggles his hips, and begs,

“ _deeper_ ,” and Derek stutters over a moan as he complies, forcing his tongue further into Stiles, his fingers pressing in beside it. He pulls his face away and drops his head to pull Stiles’ dick into his mouth, swallows him down until he feels Stiles’ cock hit the back of his throat. Stiles’ breathy moans stutter to a grinding halt, mouth parted, but no noise escaping with the feel of Derek everywhere; Derek’s hot, wet mouth closing around Stiles’ dick, two fingers fucking him relentlessly.

“Fuck, Derek, I want your cock,” Stiles manages, biting at his own forearm to keep from whimpering. Derek lets Stiles’ dick fall from his mouth with a wet slurp, panting. He licks a stripe once more up Stiles balls, flicking his tongue into him before pulling away. He palms at Stiles’ ass, kneading the pale skin of his cheeks for a moment. Stiles picks himself up and turns to look at him.

“What? You want me to beg?” Stiles asks, voice sharp and sarcastic. Derek looks at him speculatively.

“Kind of,” he teases. Stiles smirks and drops his head back, wagging his hips, thrusting his ass back against Derek’s groin, cock sliding up the crack of his ass. Derek lets out a soft moan and Stiles hums back at him.

“Oh Derek, _take me_ ,” Stiles says, voice high and tone mocking. Derek huffs out a laugh, but Stiles watches as he slicks himself up with lube before he drapes himself across Stiles’ back, presses him down into the bed with the heavy weight of him. He clutches at Stiles’ jaw with a broad hand and sucks bruising kisses into his neck, over the hickeys Stiles can feel already, bursting with pain as he nips over them.

“How do you want it?” Derek asks, voice silk smooth and low, it makes Stiles hole clench and unclench, tingling with anticipation, the thought of being filled; Derek’s cock large and intact, thicker than Stiles’ but not as long. Stiles moans at where it slides teasingly along his balls and over his perineum.  

“I want it hard,” Stiles gasps, Derek’s grip tightening at the words. “I want to feel it tomorrow,” Stiles tells him, “ _everywhere_.” Derek’s thighs tense around him as he pulls back and Stiles groans at the loss and picks himself up onto his hands again, waiting. He feels, then, the head of Derek’s cock nudging against him before he’s sliding in, tight and hot and so good Stiles feels his eyes roll up as he lets them slip closed. He makes a high whining sound and gasps out a shaky breath when he feels Derek bottom out. Stiles braces himself and rolls his hips, fucking himself on Derek’s cock while Derek holds his hips in his hands.

“Fuck, God Stiles,” Derek grits out, pulling Stiles back, hard, thrusting in and out, hands roaming over his back, clutching at his ass and up to his shoulders, pulling him back down on top of his dick as Stiles rides him with every rotation of his hips.

Derek pushes at Stiles’ shoulders, weighs him down with the heavy press of his hands to the base of his spine and Stiles lets himself drop, until his stomach is practically flush with the bed, his ass in the air as Derek moves over him, drapes himself across Stiles’ back and starts fucking him with a relentless rhythm, position driving him deeper and deeper, every stuttering bruising thrust of their hips together eliciting a choked off sobbing moan from Stiles.

“I think,” Stiles tries, turning his head as Derek bites at his ear, “this was, _fuck_ ,” he groans, Derek’s fingers scrabbling at Stiles’ neck before making their way to his parted lips, pulling at them. “Worth the _wait_ ,” Stiles finally manages, sentence cut on a sharp piston of Derek’s hips that has him choking on a sobbing gasp of pleasure and pain. Derek pulls back, grips him tight, arm snaked around Stiles’ chest and drags him up, Stiles braces himself on his palms spread on the stark white sheets beneath him. Derek’s hands drop to Stiles’ hips as he leans back, setting a rapid pace of hard sharp thrusts before he presses himself against Stiles, kisses along his shoulder, his hips moving softly, pulling out slowly as he wraps his arms around Stiles’ chest from behind, kisses up along his neck and nuzzles at the back of his ear.

Stiles let’s his head drop to Derek’s shoulder as he pulls him back, flush against his chest, hips thrusting once more. The pace he sets now is slow, his cock pushing deeper with every hard thrust, Stiles slamming his hips back against Derek’s thighs, tensed beneath him. Derek moves his hand down to press against Stiles’ abdomen, over his thighs, everywhere but his neglected cock.

“I want to come without it,” Stiles says, moving his arm to grip at Derek’s shoulders, bent at an awkward angle, other hand grasping at the back of Derek’s head, fingers tightly woven into his hair. Derek moves his hands back to Stiles’ hips and they move together as Derek thrusts up and Stiles circling his hips presses back against him.

It’s not long after that that Derek’s voice gets higher and louder as he moans against Stiles’ ear, and he stills suddenly and Stiles can feel Derek’s orgasm in the feel of his cock twitching and pumping inside his ass. Stiles clutches at Derek’s trembling thighs and comes whimpering Derek’s name.

 

 


End file.
